


there are many things that i would like to say to you, but i don't know how

by warsfeil



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23851045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warsfeil/pseuds/warsfeil
Summary: In which Keito should call the doctor, but does not; Eichi should go to the doctor, but does not; two boys have feelings and should talk about it -- but do not. Mostly.
Relationships: Hasumi Keito/Tenshouin Eichi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	there are many things that i would like to say to you, but i don't know how

“The second you start coughing again, I’m calling your doctor,” Keito says, sounding even more exasperated than usual to cover for the worry in his voice.

“No,” Eichi says, but it sounds much less commanding when the Emperor is swathed in an absolute nightmare of blankets instead of sitting on a throne. His eyes and nose are red, and the trash can would be overflowing with tissues if not for the fact that Keito had emptied it twice already. “You can’t do that.”

“I’ll do it if you need it,” Keito says, but he relents, because he always does, when it comes to Eichi. He sits down, instead, perches on the edge of his futon (his _own_ damn futon). Eichi wiggles, more blanket than human, until he’s closer to Keito, and Keito leans back until Eichi is contentedly leaning his head on Keito’s shoulder.

It would be peaceful, if Eichi wasn’t wheezing quietly, a whistling on every exhale that ensures that Keito is going to be awake until morning making certain that Eichi doesn’t fall silent and die in the middle of the night. 

“I don’t know why you insisted on staying here,” Keito says, which is a lie: if he’d showed the hint of a cold within the walls of the Tenshouin estate, he’d have already been whisked away to the private room that his parents had ensured was always ready for him in the hospital.

“It’s nicer with Keito by my side,” Eichi says, and it would have all of his normal, flowering affection if it wasn’t for the nasal tone he was currently suffering. 

“You sound like a frog,” Keito observes, and Eichi lets out a little huff that turns into a short coughing fit. Keito doesn’t reach for his phone, even though he knows that he should -- what seems like a mere cold could easily turn fatal, with Eichi -- but his fingers do twitch enough that Eichi drops his hand down over Keito’s, squeezing slightly too hard.

“It’s fine,” Eichi says, and offers a watery smile. “It’s better to cough and get it out of my system, isn’t it?”

“There’s no way that works on your doctors,” Keito says, but he doesn’t remove his hand. Eichi’s hand is warm where it is on his, and Keito has to fight the urge to check Eichi’s temperature. The heat is a byproduct of the blankets, he tells himself; if he didn’t have a fever ten minutes prior then he won’t have broken out into one now.

“It doesn’t have to work on them,” Eichi murmurs, letting his head loll back onto Keito’s shoulder. Keito allows it.

“I’m calling them first thing in the morning,” Keito says. “There isn’t school, so you don’t have an excuse.”

Eichi bites his lip, but he doesn’t protest it. He knows better than to push his luck, when it comes to Keito; he’s managed to get a free night, away from the monitors and the wires of the hospital, and even that’s come at a high price to them both. Eichi won’t be allowed to spend the night away from home for weeks, at the least, after this, and the scolding that Keito will get from both families is likely to be one he can remember in seventy years.

“You’ll have to visit me,” Eichi says, “everyday.”

“I refuse,” Keito lies, like he isn’t one of Eichi’s most common hospital visitors. He’s pretty sure the nurses know his name. Hell, he’s pretty sure the nurses know his birthday, at this point. 

“You’ll have to take over all my duties while I’m gone,” Eichi offers.

“I always do that,” Keito says, “and it’s a _cold_. At worst, you get pneumonia. You’re not going to be out that long.”

“Ahh, Keito wouldn’t let me die, it’s true.”

“With my power as temporary student council president, I’m dissolving _fine_.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Eichi admonishes, threading his fingers through Keito’s. “If you let Wataru free, there’s no telling what he’d do.”

There is a small part of Keito -- a small, deeply repressed part of Keito that harkens back to when he was younger and cared moderately less about his reputation -- that desperately wants to see a Wataru set loose on Yumenosaki. Most of Keito, however, does not want to deal with the clean up involved.

“I’d expel him,” Keito says, instead.

“I don’t have _that_ kind of power,” Eichi murmurs, softly, like he couldn’t absolutely get someone expelled if he wanted to. Like Keito hadn’t personally been involved in running people out of the school, in darker days.

Keito hums, unconvinced, but doesn’t respond aside from that. Eichi clears his throat, but doesn’t cough; Keito can feel him shake with the strain of it, feel the way his fingers tighten in Keito’s.

“Thank you, Keito,” Eichi says, when he manages to relax again, and Keito uses his free hand to push his glasses up, to look anywhere but at the crown of golden hair that rests against his shoulder.

“Don’t thank me, I’m still calling the doctor tomorrow,” Keito says, stiffly, because everytime Eichi gets sick and thanks him, he can’t help but feel like Eichi is trying to tie up loose ends. He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to admit that keeping Eichi at home is selfish, too -- to see Eichi cocooned in the blanket that Keito’s mother made, pale against the tatami mats in Keito’s room, is somehow safer than the idea of him in the hospital, washed out against the sterilized backdrop.

It doesn’t feel like a possibility, that Eichi could die inside Keito’s room. If Eichi dies, it’ll be in the hospital, hooked up to machines and only when every option has been fully explored. It won’t be in Keito’s bedroom, eyelids heavy with the drugstore medication Keito has access to, a light wheeze in his lungs and an old set of lives playing on Keito’s laptop screen.

“Not just that,” Eichi says, softly. “Thank you for always being by my side.”

Keito considers his options, and then, casually, leans his head against Eichi’s. It gives him a more intimate seat to Eichi’s labored breathing -- it hasn’t gotten any worse, at least. If this is the peak, then Keito will consider them both lucky. 

“Where else,” Keito says, letting his voice drop to match Eichi’s, too quiet over the sound of one of Akatsuki’s old performances coming out tinny from the speakers, “would I be?”

Eichi smiles. Keito can see it from his angle, if only just; he holds it in his memory as a kind of sacred object, pins it into his mind alongside every other important thing he’s learned in his life, from language itself to the feeling of Eichi pressed against him.

“Then, like I said,” Eichi says, tilting his head up. He can’t really make eye contact with Keito, not at that angle; his eyelashes brush against Keito’s jawline. “Please stay by my side forever.”

“Whenever I’m not doing your paperwork,” Keito concedes. 

Eichi hums instead of laughing, too cautious to risk another coughing fit, and then refocuses on the laptop screen. It’s an old live, it’s hardly worth watching, but Eichi’s eyes track the familiar movements in between long, slow blinks that last longer and longer until he’s asleep.

Keito stays up: with Eichi next to him, half on the pillows and half in his lap, with paperwork, with the silent laptop, with the sound of Eichi’s breathing filling in a steady rhythm. Everytime Eichi falls quiet, Keito looks over until Eichi coughs in his sleep, stirs and resettles.

In the morning, he calls the doctor before Eichi wakes up, and reaches out to tuck Eichi’s hair back, letting his fingers linger too long across Eichi’s skin.

“I’ll visit you,” Keito murmurs, “so don’t do anything stupid.”

**Author's Note:**

> no i will not stop applying wonderwall to every single one of my otps. i cannot be stopped. you lack the power required to stop me.
> 
> @warsfeils on twt


End file.
